


Schooled

by vix_spes



Series: Lessons [1]
Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Pre-Canon, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Galahad's choice of attire may be different to the rest of them but Tristan doesn't care. In fact, he seems to rather appreciate it.





	Schooled

**Author's Note:**

> I can't be the only person who thought of this watching the film.

When the Sarmatian recruits finished their training, and were assigned to a Roman commander as knights, they were permitted to choose their clothing and armour from the collection that had been amassed over the years, as opposed to the rough tunics and breeches they had mostly worn whilst training. For the most part, they ended up with a random combination of Roman and Sarmatian styles although some of them opted for almost entirely Sarmatian dress. There was, however, one unlucky knight who didn’t get a choice at all.

As the youngest of the knights, Galahad was simply stuck with whatever was left that fitted him and didn’t make him look like a child playing dress up. To say that his options were limited was an understatement. In fact, much to his disgruntlement, the only thing that didn’t look like it was trying to drown him when he put it on was a short tunic that he had to fasten around his waist with a wide leather belt.

Lancelot being Lancelot, had burst out laughing as soon as he saw Galahad wearing it for the first time and Bors hadn’t been too far behind, Galahad scowling at their reaction, even if he had expected it. What he hadn’t expected was the rather speculative look that he received from Tristan that had him flushing hotly.

Tristan, the most inscrutable of the knights under the command of Arthur Castus yet, somehow, he was the one that Galahad wanted to impress the most.

 Galahad was never supposed to be one of the Sarmatians recruited into the Roman army; it was supposed to be his older brother. Galahad and Gawain were from the same tribe and Galahad had known that, following the death of his father, they could not afford to lose both his brother and Gawain so he had volunteered in Geraint’s stead. He had half-expected them to laugh in his face for he had been a small, scrawny boy but the Romans hadn’t cared as long as they reached their numbers.

As soon as they arrived in Britain, Galahad was handed over to Tristan for training. Training, he noticed, that none of the others received. Galahad knew that his stature belied his actual skills but he found himself continually frustrated and expressing said frustration to Gawain. He didn’t understand why he’d been singled out for this training. It wasn’t that it was the worst thing – Tristan was a weapons master and Galahad appreciated all of his advice (well, most of the time) but he just wanted to know why. It wouldn’t hurt if Tristan also gave him some praise now and then. It didn’t seem to matter how hard he trained, how much he improved, how good he was; Tristan never seemed impressed, he just looked at Galahad with that same unreadable look. The only – small – comfort was that Tristan looked at every knight with the same expression, even Arthur.

Only, the look that Tristan was currently favouring Galahad with was one that he had never seen before. Well, that was a lie; he’d seen it before, he’d just never seen it on Tristan before. He’d seen it plenty of times on Lancelot and Gawain, usually right before they had propositioned some young woman and taken her to bed for the night or on Bors’ face when he had decided that Vanora had done enough work and needed to pay more attention to him. On any of them, Galahad would have described the look as lust but he hesitated because, well, this was Tristan.

If there were lovers then Tristan was keeping his mouth shut. Galahad didn’t doubt that there had been lovers – it was Galahad that had been nicknamed ‘the Pure’, not Tristan – but he couldn’t fathom the possibility that Tristan’s gaze and interest had alighted on him. After all, Galahad was just eighteen, still lean enough that he could probably be called scrawny still and with unfortunately knobbly knees poking out of what was, to all intents and purposes, his skirt. It was a complete misnomer.

Only, the more that Galahad thought about it, the more he realised that, if Tristan was looking at him in lust then Galahad really had no problems with that. In fact, he quite liked the idea.

The other knights may refer to him as Galahad the Pure but that wasn’t entirely true. He’d had a couple of fumbles with two of the younger barmaids at the garrison. The first one had been okay he supposed but the second could only be described as disastrous. The girl, as lovely as she was, felt completely wrong under his hands and when it became clear that she wanted him to take charge, he had simply frozen, unable to do anything at all. The girl had done her best to rekindle his interest but the moment had passed for Galahad and he had beaten a mortified retreat. He had been so embarrassed that he did his best to not think about it and hadn’t tried anything since, either with the same barmaid or with anybody else. It was simply easier to cope with the teasing that he received.

Now, he forced himself to think about it, made himself examine everything about the encounter in detail. To say it was enlightening was an understatement to say the least. If he truly thought about it, he had disliked the preconceived notion that he would be in charge. Not only that, but her body had felt wrong underneath his. Not bad, but wrong; curves that shouldn’t be there. Now, instead of that situation, Galahad mentally conjured a new scenario, one in which he took the place of the barmaid and in the position previously occupied by Galahad … was Tristan.

Instead of Galahad pressing the barmaid to the bed, feeling her curves underneath him, it was Galahad being pressed into the mattress by the hard planes of Tristan’s taller and broader frame. Calloused fingers that had corrected Galahad’s frame and hold countless times now played his body with the same expert skill that Tristan exhibited in handling his weapons. He imagined having that intense focus training solely on him, what Tristan’s braids and beard would feel like against his skin, remembered the look that Tristan had favoured him with and Galahad found himself harder than he had ever been.

Interesting.

~*~

After his revelation, Galahad paid even more attention to Tristan than usual. What he found intrigued him. Tristan’s face was as inscrutable as ever but Galahad found the scout’s gaze lingering on him more frequently, some unknown or indecipherable emotion flashing in those dark eyes. It both confused and intrigued him and he desperately wanted to question Tristan but didn’t know how to start. Finally, an opportunity presented itself.

Arthur had asked Tristan to go on a short scouting mission and to take one of the other knights with him. To the surprise of everyone, before Tristan could voice his preference, Galahad had spoken up and volunteered. There was a moment of silence, a flicker of something across Tristan’s face and then he was acquiescing, acknowledging that it would be good for Galahad’s training; good practice for the skills that he had acquired. There were a few whoops of laughter and comments on the fact that Galahad had actually volunteered for something but Galahad shrugged them all off and went to prepare his things and his horse. He was just saddling his mare when Gawain materialised next to him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Galahad.”

Galahad gave a bark of laughter, “So do I.”

He didn’t have the opportunity to say more as, in the blink of an eye, Tristan had materialised, silent as a ghost.

“You ready to leave?”

Galahad gave a sharp nod and swung himself up onto his horse, Tristan leading the way out of the stables with just a click of his tongue to his stallion. Galahad cast one last look at Gawain, catching his mouthed ‘good luck’ and then swung his mare around to follow Tristan.

They rode almost in silence, the only sounds being the nature around them and Tristan all but crooning to Iseult whenever the hawk deigned to come and perch on his arm. Somewhat irrationally, Galahad found himself feeling jealous that the hawk could so easily garner Tristan’s attention when the older knight hadn’t said a word to Galahad since they had left the garrison. Galahad was wary of speaking first though, lest he be fobbed off, told he was ridiculous or – the usual complaint from the older knights – that he was hot-headed. He was very aware that he was considered to be impetuous and full of the folly of youth; something that he didn’t want to encourage given how he wanted Tristan to think of him.

In the end, it was Tristan who spoke first, making the decision to stop and make camp for the night. The two of them made quick work of their individual tasks, having done them countless times over the years that Tristan had been training Galahad. It was only when they were sat by the fire eating the hares that Iseult had hunted down and brought back for them that Tristan voiced a question.

“Why did you volunteer? I do not know if I can remember a single scouting trip we have been on where you haven’t whined, little pup.”

Galahad forced himself to not bite at the nickname and remain calm. “Maybe I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yet you have said nothing all day.”

“Neither have you.” The words were out of Galahad’s mouth before he even realised and, not for the first time, wondered what it was about Tristan that had the ability to rile him so. He snapped his mouth shut with an audible sound that earned him a smirk from Tristan before the older man made an imperious gesture with the leg of hare that he was eating.

“Well? Ask your question, little pup.”

It was now or never.

“Why have you been watching me?”

The sly smile that curled Tristan’s lips had Galahad’s blood boiling. “What makes you think that I’ve been watching you?”

Damn the man to hell; he was going to make Galahad describe it al. Already, Galahad could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and he was fighting the urge to squirm.

“You know that you have. Ever since we finished training and got our new clothing, you’ve been staring at me with…”

“With what?” Tristan’s voice was low, rough, and when Galahad chanced a glance across the fire, his dark eyes were almost hypnotising. “With what do I look at you, little pup?”

Galahad tore his gaze away as he whispered his next words. “With lust. As though you want me.”

Because he wasn’t looking, Galahad jumped like a startled rabbit when Tristan’s next words came from right next to his ear.

“Is that so hard to fathom? That I would want you?”

“Yes!” Galahad decided that he had already come this far, he may as well keep going. “Tristan, it seems as though you can barely stand me most of the time so yes, it’s a little bit hard to believe that you’re looking at me in lust.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t look as fetching in your new attire as you currently do.”

“Fetching? I’m not a maid, Tristan.”

“I’m well aware of that, little pup.”

“Then why do you all insist on addressing me as one, never mind referring to me by that blasted ‘Galahad the pure’ moniker?” Galahad wasn’t going to push his luck by mentioning the ‘little pup’ moniker. Besides, he sort of liked that one.

“It’s just a bit of fun. We all know about you and Vanora’s barmaids. Tell me though, fumbles with little girls aside, are you as pure as we say? Have you ever been with a man before?”

Tristan was close to Galahad now, almost too close. Galahad could feel the heat of his body, could smell his scent, the two senses almost overwhelming as Galahad’s mind conjured up all the thoughts that he had had of Tristan recently until he could feel the heat of his own flush spread across his body.

“N-no-no.”

“But you’ve thought about it, yes?”

“M-maybe.”

“You’ve thought about me.” It was a statement, not a question. “You are not wrong that I’ve been watching you; it’s hard not to watch someone so tantalising, especially when they do not realise their own allure.”

Galahad wanted to scoff at the thought of himself being tantalising or alluring but something in Tristan’s tone of voice stopped him. Instead, he voiced another question.

“Why now? You’ve never looked at me like this before so why now?”

“You sound so certain of that. Maybe you’ve simply never noticed before.”

Galahad’s stomach roiled as his frustration spilled over and he pushed aside the bits of meat that he hadn’t eaten yet and stormed away from the fire and Tristan, spitting out his words as he went. “This isn’t teasing, Tristan; it’s cruel and not only is it not funny, it’s not true.” He didn’t make it very far before Tristan slammed into him from behind just as he reached the treeline, spinning him around and pinning him to the nearest tree.

“Do you really think me that cruel, little pup? I may have been an exacting taskmaster but, if you are honest with yourself, you know that I have never been needlessly cruel to you. I have not been lying to you. I have been watching you for a long time, since before it was appropriate for me to do so.”

“Then if you’ve been watching me without me realising it for so long, why did you suddenly become more obvious?”

“I also wasn’t lying when I said that your new attire was fetching. I’m not the only person in the garrison to have noticed; covetous glances follow your every step and the men they belong to will not show the same restraint that I have done.”

“So, what, you’re the lesser of two evils?”

“I never said that. However, I am willing to ask whereas they would simply take.”

“Ask what?”

“Let me teach you.” Tristan shifted position slightly, looming over Galahad and nosing briefly at his jaw. “Just as I have schooled you in the art of weaponry, let me school you in this. You have thought of me doing so and I will not deny that I have long wanted the pleasure of doing so.”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Do you really want one?”

Galahad closed his eyes and thought – really thought – about Tristan’s words. He hated the idea of being viewed as nothing more than a piece of meat; be viewed as Vanora and her barmaids were by a host of leering soldiers. He hated that he was in this situation regardless of his skills and abilities but because of his size and attire. He conjured up all of the fantasies that he had created that featured Tristan and he considered – truly considered – if he wanted them to be more than fantasies. Opening his eyes, he tilted his head back to look Tristan in the eye and spoke softly.

“Teach me, Tristan.”

The noise that Tristan made at Galahad’s words could only be described as a growl and then Tristan’s lips were on his, hard and fierce. Galahad had no chance to respond before Tristan pulled back, a look of triumph blazing in his eyes that made Galahad’s breath catch in his throat. Tristan’s hands came up to frame Galahad’s face, one thumb brushing over Galahad’s cheekbone before tilting his head and slanting his lips over Galahad’s.

Galahad found his hands rising involuntarily and fisting themselves in the fabric at Tristan’s shoulders, all but clinging as his mouth was plundered; there was no other way to describe it. This was nothing like the few chaste kisses that he’d shared with the barmaids, both of them relatively inexperienced and unsure. No, Tristan knew exactly what he wanted and had no compunction about taking it. Not that Galahad was complaining.

Quite the opposite in fact. He sank into the kiss, allowing Tristan to dominate and moaning as Tristan’s tongue swiped against the seam of his lips, parting his lips with alacrity. Needing more contact, Galahad moved his hands from where they had been clinging to Tristan’s biceps to wrap around his neck, doing his best to reciprocate the kiss. Dimly, he could hear whimpering and it didn’t take him long to realise that it was him. Before he had the chance to be embarrassed, Tristan shifted position, pressing Galahad even harder into the tree, a muscled thigh sliding between Galahad’s and a moan ripped its way from his throat as one of Tristan’s hands found its way underneath his tunic.

Galahad found himself begging for more, a litany of words and noises falling from his lips as Tristan’s attention moved to his neck, nuzzling under his ear and nipping at his jaw, his beard tickling the sensitive skin there. Galahad allowed one hand to fist itself in Tristan’s hair, tangling around braids, using his grip to drag Tristan’s lips back to his own as Tristan used his own grip on Galahad’s arse to encourage Galahad to rut against Tristan’s thigh. All too soon, Galahad felt his balls tighten and draw up before he was coming all but untouched, spilling himself all over Tristan’s trousers with a high cry. Feeling distinctly shaky, Galahad couldn’t help the whine that escaped his throat as Tristan bit down on his lip and laved it with his tongue before pulling back with a wicked smirk on his lips.

“Consider that your first lesson, little pup.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would prefer to comment on DW, you can do so [here](https://vix-spes.dreamwidth.org/269762.html)


End file.
